


Study Session

by risotto



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Boners, Anal Sex, Big Mouth Lance, Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, Deepthroating, Friends to Lovers, Gift Fic, Hance - Freeform, Loud Sex, M/M, Morning Wood, Self Confidence Issues, Size Kink, Smut, Studying, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto
Summary: Hunk just can’t imagine what Lance—sleek and agile and defined Lance—would ever find desirable about him and his thick frame.





	Study Session

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MTrash (Makaria)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makaria/gifts).



> For [Maka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Makaria/pseuds/MTrash), who has helped me more than I can say and who loves Hance as much as I do, which is a lot. A damn lot. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Regarding the timeline: this can be considered pre-canon or even canon-divergent, whichever floats your boat.

“Hunk, oh my god.”

“Just one more.”

“ _Please_.”

“You can fit one more, can’t you?”

“I can’t take anymore.”

“Lance…”

“Just...let me take a breath. Okay, go.”

Hunk holds up an index card. Across from him, Lance leans in close, squinting at the bold Cyrillic letters etched out on it in marker: **спускаться.**

“Spuskat sya?” he ventures.

Hunk nods and skims the back of the card. “Very good. Now, what’s it mean?”

Wrinkling his nose, Lance considers this, then tries, “To descend?”

“Good.” Pleased that their flashcard drill is going much better than anticipated, Hunk shuffles the cards and pulls out another random one. **Посадка**.

“Posadka,” Lance says, promptly.

Just as expected, he’s right. But Hunk knows it’s not the Cyrillic alphabet that his friend has trouble with; it’s the vocabulary. “And what does that mean?”

Lance slumps, his eyes squeezing shut in thought. “I dunno,” he mumbles after a short moment. “Doesn’t it also mean to descend?”

“It means landing, actually.”

“Ugh, whatever!” Lance rolls his eyes, throwing his arms up in defeat. “I give up. Remind me again: why do we have to learn Russian?”

“Because it’s the language of Space,” Hunk explains without looking up from the stack.

“Right, but it’s not like we’re going to Mir-III anytime soon.”

“You’re right,” Hunk agrees with a shrug, “but, like, one, these words are on the upcoming exam. Two, all of the older craft manuals and stuff are written in Russian, and three, it’s tradition, so you better respect it. Or else you’ll get all the bad Space Voodoo over your ship and that’s never good.”

“But I don’t have the mental room for a third language!” Lance lets out a whine and flops onto his back on the bed. The action makes his shirt ride up and Hunk can see a strip of tanned skin and the hard planes of a toned stomach.

Struck by something he knows isn’t guilt, Hunk swallows hard and looks away. “You know Kofi on the Med Team? I heard from him that they have to learn Russian _and_ Latin and Greek terms. Consider yourself lucky.”

Lance snorts. “Yeah, well, Kofi looks like a centerfold and everyone and their mother’s gaga over him, so ‘scuse me if I don’t exactly feel sorry for the guy.”

Hunk can’t argue with that. Although, personally, he thinks Lance can give Kofi a run for his money.

“Speaking of Kofi,” Lance begins, and he’s sitting up and giving Hunk a conspiratorial look that makes him freeze on the spot. “He’s the guest of honor at one of Wayne’s weekend parties. The one that’s coming up this weekend, actually.”

Sweat starts gathering beneath Hunk’s headband despite the room’s controlled temperature.

“So what’s say you?” Lance waggles his eyebrows.

Hunk hates turning Lance down for anything—he always gets a kicked puppy look on his face and it just makes Hunk want to gather him up into a hug and squeeze him tight and feed him or something. He turns away from him, pretends to be more interested in a book on Aerodynamics instead. “I dunno, Lance…”

“Aww, why not?” Lance leans into Hunk’s line of vision. “Everyone’ll be there!”

“Pidge isn’t going,” Hunk points out.

“Let me rephrase myself,” Lance backtracks. “Anyone who _doesn’t_ live in front of a computer screen is going.”

“Uh, that ace pilot from Alpha group isn’t—”

“Ugh, no,” Lance angrily pulls at his own hair. “Do _not_ get me started on that guy. Look, only reason why I’m even bringing it up is ‘cause Kelly’s going, and…”

And Hunk knows where this conversation’s now headed.

Kelly is Lance’s latest infatuation. Clocking in at a little under a month, it’s the longest running crush he’s pursued since Hunk met him. A shock, given how fast Lance moves on from crush to crush, often in the span of mere hours, and with nothing to show for it except for the name Big Mouth Lance. Hunk often wonders if it’s all for show. No one can be _that_ into rejection.

“...she’s got a friend.”

Hunk groans. “C’mon Lance. I don’t do blind dates.”

Hunk hates being set-up. It doesn’t happen often but when it does, it’s painfully awkward and fruitless. Then there’s also having to endure looks of disappointment and the inevitable _moment_ when his date gives him a pitiful look and says something to the effect of _you’re so nice_ or _you’re pretty funny and sweet, but…_

“Right, but it’s a party, not a date,” Lance explains, as if that makes a difference. “She’s just a buffer. See, Kelly said she won’t go unless her friend does. And her friend won’t go unless there’s a guy there to keep her company. That’s where you come in.”

Hunk gives him a withering look. “No.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Lance nudges him, playfully, “she’s cute, Hunk.”

“I’m sure she is,” Hunk sighs. They’re always cute, and that’s the problem. “I’m not.”

Lance flinches and draws back, his expression raw and vulnerable. It’s worse than the kicked puppy look.

Hunk can’t meet his gaze. “I know you mean well and all, but I’m just...not that kinda guy. I’d rather go to the commissary and stock up on junk food and marathon pay-per-view wrestling than to go hold up a wall at a kegger with a bunch of people I don’t know.”

“You’ll be with me?” Lance offers, hope making his voice unusually soft.

“Until you decide to go focus on Kelly, or Jessica, or anyone else that catches your eye.”

Hunk regrets the words the instant they fall out of his mouth but by then, it’s too late. Lance is huffing and picking up his textbook and a highlighter. “Fine,” he mutters, though he appears to be anything but.

“Lance, I—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

There’s an inexplicable rigidity in Lance’s posture and in his jaw and his averted stare. Hunk’s fluent enough in Lance’s body language to know it’s best to not prod any further right now; not until Lance himself is ready.

Clearly, whatever’s bothering Lance is still present a half hour later, when he sighs and drops the highlighter. “Do you really think I’d just diss you like that? You know I only brought up Kelly’s friend so I can have you there with me, right?”

Little does Lance know he’s all the incentive Hunk needs.

Glumly, Hunk drops his chin on his palm. “I know you had the best intentions at heart but I dunno. I don’t fit into that scene.”

Lance clearly doesn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Hunk’s mumbling and he can barely hear himself, “guys like you and Kofi are made for those kinds of parties and for blind dates. Me? Not so much.”

Lance seems to understand now. He frowns, more confused than angry. “What’re you even talking about? You’re the funniest guy I know. You can make anybody laugh and you’re smart and you have a big heart. It’s impossible to NOT like you.”

There’s a retort on the tip of Hunk’s tongue. Something about how Lance is _only saying that because he’s a friend_ , except that’s not true. In the years Hunk’s known him, Lance was never the type to patronize or say anything except what he felt was the truth.

Because he appreciates his friend’s honesty and because he knows anything he says now would just end up lost in a stammering mess of words and needless apologies, Hunk goes to his mini-fridge and swipes up the last can of PBR. It’s cold and not yet skunky. The perfect peace offering.

Lance takes it with a soft, genuine smile.

They’re quiet again until Lance murmurs, “and anyways, it’s in your name, dude.”

Hunk blinks at him. “What is?”

Lance doesn’t respond. He just pops open the can and offers Hunk the first sip, like he always does.

 

 

\--

 

 

It’s 0327 hours when Hunk wakes to the wonderful feeling of a pointy elbow lodged into his side.

Oh, right.

Sleeping in unassigned quarters is against Galaxy Garrison rules; so is skulking about in the halls after curfew. With two strikes on those fronts already under his belt, Lance chose to spend the night in Hunk’s room.

Hunk had offered to take the floor but Lance insisted they either sleep together or not at all. Hunk didn’t have much of a choice once Lance curled up beside him and draped an arm and a leg over his body, anchoring him in place.

The beds in the barracks are full-sized, barely large enough for Hunk himself. How Lance can remain sound asleep with someone who takes up so much space, Hunk’ll never know. But he’s grateful for the chance, all the same.

Lance is on his side with his back to Hunk, offering a clear view of the long line of his neck and the curve of his shoulder, the nobs of his spine, the steady rise-and-fall of his breath as he sleeps…

Watching him sleep like this is equal parts agonizing and invigorating. Hunk’s body is strung tight like a tense wire and unable to move; yet he wants nothing more than to reach over and walk the tips of his fingers down slender Lance’s back, turn him over, and do the same to his ribs.

Lance makes a whiny, breathy noise and Hunk’s pretty sure the boner he just popped can be seen from outer space. He tries to turn without disturbing the body beside his, though physics and bad timing makes it so that Lance tumbles back toward him. The bed’s too small to escape in. For all intents and purposes, Hunk is stuck.

He can only pray Lance is either so deep asleep that he doesn’t notice or that he’ll be a bro and pretend he doesn’t notice the erection that’s a few centimeters shy of poking him in the ass.

Not only does Lance notice, he juts his skinny butt backwards, right into the damn thing.

Hunk hisses lowly, inches his hips backward and hopes his voice won’t betray him. “Uh, Lance?”

“Mm?” Lance rolls over to face him, a sleepy grin curving his lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded though very clear and blown wide in the glow of the bedside digital clock. It’s downright _unfair_ how hot Lance looks half-awake with bedhead.

“Um, hey,” whispers Hunk, awkwardly.

“Didja have a good dream?” Lance asks, wiggling his hips forward so that he brushes against him. There’s no doubt about it now—he knows.

Damn.

Hunk swallows and shakes his head. “It’s just morning—uh, I mean,” he glances at the clock, “ _very early_ morning wood.”

“Mm.” Lance peers downward and Hunk swears he feels the weight of that stare traveling straight into his groin. “Looks like you’re gonna have to take care of it.”

“It’ll leave—uh, I mean, it’ll go away. On its own. Eventually. Yeah.”

“You sure?” Lance licks his lips while Hunk pretends to not follow the movement of his tongue.

“Pretty sure.”

Without warning, verbal or otherwise, Lance reaches down and palms him.

Startled, Hunk almost takes a header off the bed. “Lance, what—”

“Hunk, listen, I dunno how much more obvious I can make this, so…” When Lance leans in close, Hunk expects the stench of beer or morning breath; he gets neither, only the gentle whiff of Lance’s body spray, a spicy and fresh scent he’s always liked. “I wanna have sex.”

“With me?”

Hunk’s not sure how it’s possible to do it laying down, but Lance fidgets. It’s oddly cute. “I hope so. Is that okay?”

It’s more than okay, Hunk thinks. But—

“But you like girls,” he blurts. It’s not an answer but Hunk wants to make sure Lance is aware of what’s really at stake here.

“I like guys too.”

Either Hunk had been oblivious for years or Lance hid it very well. “I never knew that,” Hunk admits out loud. “Wait, so does that mean you like _me_?”

Hunk just can’t imagine what Lance—sleek and agile and defined Lance—would ever find desirable about him and his thick frame.

Lance chortles, his hands coming up to Hunk’s cheeks, squeezing them. They’re so close now, they’re exchanging breaths of air. And like this, Hunk can see the tiniest beginnings of some adorable crow’s feet at the corner of Lance’s eyes and that Lance has such long eyelashes…

“Dude, _yes_. I fucking like you.”

Lance sneaks one hand around to the back of Hunk’s head, carding his slender fingers through the thick black strands and deftly undoing the knot in the headband that keeps it all together. He claws his hands just _so_ , scratching feather-light against Hunk’s scalp; Hunk lets out an involuntary purr, leaning into the other boy’s touch.

“Okay,” Hunk hums, almost delirious. “I believe you…”

That earns another chuckle from Lance and encourages him to sit right on Hunk’s lap, his limbs wrapping snugly around him. They’re at eye-level this way, chest to chest, with barely any space between them. “So.”

Hunk hums again. “So?”

“Do you want to fuck me or not?”

Heat coils in Hunk’s belly and begins to spread, nice and slow, throughout his body. He breathes out, unable to contain himself. “God yes.”

The fantasy played out in several different ways over the years: on the bridge aboard the Starship Enterprise; bent over the kitchen table after a hearty feast; in a luxury honeymoon suite on the Big Island with an ocean view on their wedding night. Hunk gave up trying to figure out the meaning behind these dreams long ago.

All he knows now is that Lance isn’t shy with shoving his tongue right into Hunk’s mouth as soon as he can. Their teeth clack together. It’s hard and deep and kind of sloppy and they’re almost out of breath within moments. As far as first kisses go, it’s _perfect_.

They break apart to catch their breath, laughing when they bump noses. Unsure of what else to do, Hunk initiates the second kiss, and if Lance whining into his mouth and stiffening up beneath his shaky hands is any indication, it was the right thing to do.

Lance’s greedy fingers curl into Hunk’s shirt and he tugs, whispering against him, “take this off.”

Reluctant, Hunk doesn’t move. Things have been going so perfectly, he’s afraid to ruin it with a glimpse of his body. Lance is impatient, however, and rucks Hunk’s shirt up for him anyway. “C’mon, don’t make me beg.”

Hunk gives in and takes the shirt off. To his surprise, Lance removes his own shirt as well and tosses both aside. The room’s dimness is a double-edged sword: while Lance won’t be able to see too much of Hunk’s pudge and lack of definition, Hunk can’t see all of Lance.

Lance’s arms come around him again. “Can we continue?”

“Y-Yeah,” Hunk manages. “Continuing’s good.”

Lance bends down, kissing and licking at every expanse of skin he can reach along Hunk’s throat and shoulders, his tongue agile and teasing between light flicks and focused broad strokes with the flat side. It’s Lance that moans first, right when he first grazes Hunk’s nipple, and Hunk shudders at the way it feels against his skin. Hunk curls his fingers tight in the sheets and holds on, trying to stay quiet as Lance works his way down.

Lance then stops, abruptly. “Fuck, dude.”

“What?” Hunk can barely focus, too distracted by the defined lines on Lance’s naked torso.

“You’re hung.”

Hunk can’t respond—he doesn’t know how. Only two people aside from his doctor have ever seen this side of him. One had been a girl back home—his neighbor’s cousin, and that had been a clumsy and uncomfortable experience he’d rather forget. The other was an MP that came to Galaxy Garrison for some official reason; he was a big beefy guy that liked to lift and asked Hunk to spot him in the gym and later on rewarded him with blowjobs in the locker rooms. Neither of them had ever said anything about his dick.

Hunk looks up, then down again, eyebrows creased together. “Uh—is that good or bad?”

“Are you kidding me?” Lance sounds too excited and, thus, too loud for Hunk’s liking. He shoots up and attempts to reach over Hunk’s body for his phone. “Hang on, I gotta take a picture of it!”

It’s only by sheer accident that Hunk’s flailing arm knocks the phone off the headboard and out of Lance’s reach. “What? No, Lance—! Lance, no! Are you crazy!? Why on earth would you—?”

“Uh, because it looks good?” Lance says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Hunk must’ve had quite the expression on his face because in the next instant, Lance is rubbing his hand up and down Hunk’s crotch and looking at him like he’s dinner. “What, don’t tell me you don’t think so. I can’t see all of it from here and I can already tell you have a fucking amazing dick, Hunk. I bet it’d feel even better.”

Not only does Lance like guys as well as girls, he also likes big dicks. If there was ever a perfect time for a joke to end now would be it, because if this is all indeed some kind of elaborate prank, Hunk doesn’t think he can ever show his face again.

Lance peels Hunk’s pants off, leaving him in just his boxers. They’re Garrison-issue white and made from the cheapest synthetic fibers in the galaxy, probably. The paper-like fabric’s on the verge of falling apart from going through the wash so many times. Hunk thought about throwing them away, once or twice. Now, as he watches Lance nuzzle his cheek along the bulge in their center, he thinks he’s going to keep them forever.

Precum’s already beading at the head of his dick, signaled by an obvious wet spot. Lance groans in approval, runs his fingers along the outline of Hunk’s erection. More pre trickles, and he hums with a smile and starts kissing and licking it hard over the fabric, drenching the flimsy material with his saliva. The slipperiness combined with the heat of Lance’s mouth shifts and slithers along his dick unlike anything Hunk’s ever felt in his life. And just as Hunk manages to rub enough brain cells together for a coherent thought beyond how wonderful it feels, Lance takes the head into his mouth, underwear and all.

“Oh my god— _Lance_.”

“Mm?”

“Take those off. _Please_.”

“Mmhm.”

Lance is merciful, eventually drags the underwear down Hunk’s thick thighs, exposing his cock to cool air. He wastes no time in touching him. “Keepin’ this big dick a secret from me all the time, that’s messed up dude,” he murmurs, his tone accusatory and playful as he rubs the side of his thumb over the head, and it’s all Hunk can do to not make any weird, unattractive noises in response.

Then Lance puts his tongue to work again, tickling over the tip of his erection, along the slit, a second before he plunges downward, no longer teasing but blissfully forthright. It wrenches a sound out of Hunk so loud, he’d be surprised if it didn’t wake his neighbors.

Lance hooks a hand onto Hunk’s hip, his intentions clear: he wants to take him in all the way. Hunk tries to pull away, thinks he should probably urge Lance to stop even though his mind’s screaming that he _doesn’t_ want him to. There’s nothing to prove—

But then Lance does it. He actually does it.

Big Mouth Lance gets Hunk’s dick all the way into his mouth.

Albeit, not without some strain. The tip is pushing hard into the back of Lance’s throat and there are tears pooling in his eyes and streams of drool trickling out the corners of his mouth. Every breath Lance draws is a labored hum vibrating against Hunk’s dick. But once Lance begins to hollow his cheeks and suck, everything is just _perfect_.

The bliss is short-lived, however. Lance pulls off of him with a loud and wet pop, out of breath and looking flushed and excited. Debauched, Hunk’d say, if he could think properly. “Fuck,” Lance coughs and lets out a hacking laugh.

Part of Hunk thinks he may’ve made a mistake by not trying harder to stop Lance. The other part wants to twist his fingers into Lance’s hair and choke him again. “Uh—you okay?”

“I can’t wait any longer, Hunk.” There’s a rustle of movement and Hunk vaguely recognizes it as the sound of Lance slipping his own underwear down his long legs.

“Muh?”

Lance tosses his balled up drawers into a corner of the room and climbs up to his knees in front of Hunk. “You got any lube?”

Hunk does. But. “Uh, yeah.”

“Good.” Eager and happy and oblivious to the same fog that’s come over his friend, Lance bounces on the bed. He may’ve clapped, too. Hunk’s not entirely sure. He feels like half his brain got sucked out through his dick and now he can’t think straight.

There are condoms and lube in a box under his bed, tucked behind the storage bins and among the dust bunnies. Hunk didn’t think he’d ever make use of them again after the MP left the Garrison but now he’s glad he kept them.

Hunk squelches a generous amount of lubricant onto his fingers and gestures for Lance to lay down; Lance complies, makes a show of stretching out like a lazy cat, his skinny butt wiggling. Anyone else might find the display laughable or lame. Hunk finds it enticing.

Chest tight with a held breath, Hunk spreads Lance apart just enough to rub his slick fingers over and against the rim of his hole as he carefully gauges his reaction, waiting for any signs of discomfort. The lube isn’t very cold but with the heat building up between their bodies, he thinks he ought to be a little more careful. So when he finally nudges his finger into Lance’s ass, it’s perhaps a bit slower than necessary but it feels amazing. The breath rattles out of him just imagining what it’ll feel like to slide into that.

“C’mon, big guy,” whines Lance into the pillow.

Lance’s lack of patience is legendary— _of course_ it extends here.

“I can’t,” says Hunk, “I gotta—”

Before Hunk can even explain himself or the necessity of preparation, Lance shoots him a dark look over his shoulder. “What, think I can’t take it?”

Hunk just blinks, a little more than turned on by the unexpected danger in his friend’s voice but still believing that maybe Lance might be in over his head here. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Give me that.” Lance wrests the bottle of lube away from him. Hunk can only stare as Lance reaches back and pumps two slicked fingers in and out of his own ass, and not very gently, either.

Okay, so maybe he’s done this before.

Once the shock of watching his best friend fingering himself fades—or more accurately, fizzles down just enough so that he regains motor skills, Hunk tears open one of the condom packets with his teeth. “How do you want it?” he asks as he rolls it on.

“You really gotta ask?”

Cheeky dork. Hunk adores him, which is why he doesn’t feel too bad about flipping Lance over onto his stomach without warning. He nudges Lance’s knees further apart and crawls up into the space between them, his dick pressed up against the line of Lance’s ass.

“C’mon, c’mon, _c’mon_.”

The first thrust is slow followed by an equally slow return so steady it’s relentless, until Hunk’s is buried completely once again. He keeps it like that for a minute or two, taking his time but almost loses it when Lance scoots forward away from his dick, then backs into it.

It’s hard to see if Lance’s face is contorting in ecstasy or pain with it buried in the pillow. Not that Hunk can see well to begin with. It’s dark and hazy enough as it is, and with Lance clenching hard around him like a vise, _god_ …he can hardly keep his eyes open.

There’s no pause, no moment’s rest for Hunk to catch his breath or for Lance adjust to his girth. Maybe it’s best Hunk can’t see him. Imagining his expression, strained with bliss against the pillows, helps. That face—that big, wet mouth of his with lips puffy and parted… Hunk’s liable to blow his load right then and there.

But, then, there’s nothing quite like the real thing, so he doesn’t.

Instead, Hunk picks up the pace and learns, almost right away, that a satisfied Lance is a very vocal Lance.

“That’s it—right there. Oh, god, _fuck_ ,” he groans, a chunk of the pillow caught between his teeth.

The bedsprings creaking, Lance pushing back into him and slapping against him, Lance kicking into the mattress whenever Hunk hits a particular spot—everything echoes off the walls and puts _them_ and their location at the forefront of Hunk’s mind, even for just a bit.

It’s hot. And the very thing that’s going to get them both in trouble.

Hunk lowers his body until he’s flush against Lance’s back, mouth panting hot into his ear. He can taste sweat, his or Lance’s, he doesn’t know. “Lance, you...you gotta keep it down…”

Lance stops moving; Hunk slows down, even though he doesn’t want to. He was so fucking close. Beneath him, Lance is burning hot and sweating, at least thirty pounds lighter, yet he’s somehow able to push himself back up to his knees, his hands braced tight against the bedsheets. “Then shut me up, big guy.”

It’s bait and Hunk’s almost embarrassed by how easily he takes it, digs his fingers deep into Lance’s hips, and fucks him as hard and as fast as he can.

Only it doesn’t pan out _quite_ like that because Hunk doesn’t fuck Lance so much as Lance fucks himself on Hunk’s dick.

Lance has stopped screaming by this point which isn’t to say he’s gone quiet. His breaths are still hitched and he’s turned to grunting, his voice needier and rougher than ever. Hunk’s hand moves to stroke him but it’s too late—Lance drops down against the pillow and he tightens down around Hunk’s cock for the last time and comes, unraveling underneath him.

Hunk follows soon after. The last thing he remembers before his cock pulses and his body goes from painfully still to boneless is how hard he bites down on Lance’s shoulder and how sorry and embarrassed he’s going to be about it in the morning.

Aside from their erratic panting breaths and Hunk’s sharp hiss when pulls out and again when he takes the condom off, it’s suspiciously quiet in the room after that.

Until, clear as day, someone down the hall roars, “God damn it, keep it down! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Oh.

Shit.

Hunk freezes, tries not to breathe or move, believing that might give them away. They were careful to not scream each other’s names too loudly and with all the day-to-day noise associated with the Garrison, maybe they’re still in the clear. Maybe—

Lance shifts, turns to the direction of the voice. “Yeah, nice of you to wait ‘till we finished to say something, asshole!”

—maybe not.

Good to know that even though Lance’s voice is halfway gone, it doesn’t deter his ability to remain louder than their audience.

The same guy down the hall counters with a weak, “Fuck you!”

“Hunk already did!”

Well. That’s it then, Hunk thinks. His cover’s blown and he’s never going to recover from this. He’ll have to transfer to Siberia or something. Bring Lance along and assume an undercover identity with him, maybe change their names to McCoy and Kirk…

Hunk’s snapped out of his reverie when Lance swings one of his long legs over him then hauls himself on top of him, straddling Hunk’s lap with the same aplomb he has when he steps into the cockpit of the flight simulator. “Can you believe that guy?”

No, Hunk can’t. “Uh, Lance…?”

Lance trails a casual finger over the tiny dark hairs beneath Hunk’s navel. “Yeah, babe?”

Hoping that the hot blush flaring beneath his cheeks isn’t visible, or more visible than his own cock twitching in response, Hunk croaks, “you’re, uh. I mean, you want to—you’re on top and so I’m just...wondering? What’s—?”

Lance smirks. “Oh yeah,” he says, like he just realized he should explain himself. He reaches across for one of the condom packets. “Round two. How ‘bout it, big guy?”

 

 

\--

 

 

Hunk’s feeling as loose as a noodle and just as strong when he wakes up hours later.

Lance is already awake, sitting on the floor by the bed and fiddling with Hunk’s tablet. He’s wearing one of Hunk’s canary yellow hoodies and his limbs looks they’re lost in it. The smile he flashes Hunk is brighter than the hoodie itself. “Mornin’ sunshine!”

Good to see that last night’s activities wasn’t some vivid dream. Even better to know it didn’t shatter the status quo or make things weird. It’s as if nothing’s changed.

Except the part where Lance greets him with a kiss, unashamed. “Shower?” he offers.

“Yeah, in a minute, soon as I wake up,” Hunk yawns, looking at the tablet. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Trying to change the name of your wifi network.”

“Why?”

“Because most of your neighbors already changed theirs. Thought you might wanna fit in.”

Lance holds up the tablet. Sure enough, the network listing is a lot different than the last time Hunk saw it, and certainly not within any Garrison regulations, if he had to wager a guess.

 

`     Wecanhearyoudoinit`  
`     Keep_it_down_216`  
`     STFULance  
` `     Congratsonthesex`

 

Lance is beaming wide with pride. “I was thinking of changing it to Big Dick Hunk but that might attract unwanted attention. What do you think?”

Hunk thinks Siberia sounds good this time of year.

He also thinks it’s too early for this so he doesn’t respond. Instead, he trudges toward his bathroom.

Lance follows right behind him, peeling off the hoody and slithering naked right into the stall before Hunk can think to ask just what in the world does he think he’s doing.

He doesn’t need to because Lance is rubbing at the bite mark on his shoulder and grinning from ear to ear like he knows exactly what Hunk’s thinking. “Ready for round three?”

This guy is going to ruin him.


End file.
